


Enigma

by floppinbuggies



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 13:04:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20447597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floppinbuggies/pseuds/floppinbuggies
Summary: She’s an enigma.





	Enigma

She’s not what I expected. She’s self aware. She’s not classically beautiful. She’s got sharp edges when she speaks, bites when she’s angry, and laughs with her whole body. 

When I see her with her family, she’s soft lines and big smiles. 

I don’t know what to make of her. 

She’s fierce. She could kill a threat with swift, whispered words, but she melts at my softness. 

She’s an enigma in the way that dry ice smokes. She’s could burn me with complacencies. 

I don’t know how what gloves to hold her with. Or even if I want to. 

When she smiles at me, I’m not quite sure if I’m the Queen or the jester. I’ll let her make a fool of me either way. 

We skirt around the edges of something and not-nearly-enough. She’s intriguing in her inconsistencies. I’ve never been one to point out flaws, so I’ll let her be. 

I’m more than enough for her. I’m just as self-aware, but she’s got dark spots where my light shines. I’m not quite sure I’m ready to see where she hides her demons. 

My confidence is only stained so deep, and she flakes my layers like a pastry. She only goes deep enough to find my sweet spots, then stops when she hits the dough. I’m a little bit too much. 

I can’t fault her inch-deep-but-mile-wide approach. It’s what I do each time we meet. We only take what scrapes the surface. 

We’ll never be more than this. More than the sweet heat on chill nights. It doesn’t get cold here, but the wind sweeps through open windows on hot nights and it only cools in the hours between dusk and dawn. 

When the lights are all out and neither of us has bright spots, only then does my dark meet her smolder. 

We’ll meet in the in-between. When her light doesn’t hit my anger and my dark doesn’t meet her kind. The way God intended. 

Sharp edges are only good for the coffee tables that leave bruises on shins as reminders that ice heals. Sharp edges have purpose when corners cut too thin and daylight creeps too near. 

When our eyes meet, when the text comes late, when her hand hits my hip as she enters the room, I still don’t know what to make of her. 

But I don’t need to know everything.


End file.
